


The Road to Kaer Morhen

by im_fairly_witty



Series: The Witcher Wolf [5]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Fluff, Found Family, M/M, Refugees, School of the Cat, School of the Wolf, Wolf Geralt, Wolf!Geralt, actual wolf geralt, and ive come too far in the series not to play favorites with the crazy bastards, because Ciri is having a rough week and that kind of thing doesnt wear off overnight, canon typical camping, canon typical geralt has crazy friends everywhere he goes, canon typical monster mystery, cat witchers are my favorite school, so much found family fluff you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26228950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_fairly_witty/pseuds/im_fairly_witty
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier have successfully retrieved Ciri just in the nick of time, but now must travel to the safety of Kaer Morhen with her and Mousesack the druid while Nilfgaard is searching for them. Geralt's ability to turn into a wolf comes in handy, a mysteriously magical death unearths the beginning of a mystery he can't resist chasing, and he realizes that for Ciri's sake he must face the heretofore unaddressed relationship failings of his past.***DISCONTINUED***
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher Wolf [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646005
Comments: 79
Kudos: 514





	1. By the Fireside

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, here we go! Back at it again with the witcher wolf. :3 Now with added softness that demanded to be written, likely to balance the universe of the tension in the last part.
> 
> Enjoy.

Geralt had spent the majority of his life on the road, had been accompanied by all manner of companions over the years and experienced every kind of weather imaginable. He’d traveled with plenty of provisions and none at all, had traveled with a destination in mind and wandered aimlessly for weeks. He’d hurried toward and away, traveled openly and secretly, on foot on hoof on boat and on one memorable occasion, wing.

But he had never in all his decades experienced anything quite like the past three days as he traveled with his bard, his child surprise, two horses, and a druid. A journey made all the stranger in that he was fleeing toward Kaer Morhen in early autumn instead of the first fringes of winter, and with what amounted to an entire peculiar family instead of entirely alone.

But perhaps the thing Geralt had least anticipated about this journey was the fact that every moment he and Jaskier had to themselves had to be stolen, and even then Ciri was more likely than not still the topic of conversation.

“I’m just not sure it’s all that safe.” Jaskier said quietly, adjusting his grip on his horse’s reigns and looking back over their shoulders to where Mousesack and Ciri were walking behind them. The group was dismounted for now to rest the horses as they walked, giving Geralt and Jaskier a moment out of earshot from the other two. “We don’t know anything about any group of refugees we’d come across other than that they’ll be tired and desperate. We’d have to be sure not to ruffle any feathers, any negative attention could be disastrous.” 

“True, but we need to get more supplies, as well as news of what’s going on in the war effort, if Nilfgaard is looking for Ciri and where.” Geralt said, the hand not holding Roach’s reigns idly tracing along Jaskier’s back as they walked, just for the sake of touching. “And the only way to do that is if we mix with the refugee camps. We’ve been traveling parallel to them all morning, when they stop at the next town we should stop with them, just for the night. No one will notice a few more displaced travelers in town if we’re among a crowd of them.”

“They might if it’s the White Wolf; Geralt of Rivia.” Jaskier said, letting his hip bump Geralt’s, a soft touch of playfulness despite the weariness of their little group from constant alertness. “You’re too memorable darling.”

“And whose fault is that?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, I accept full responsibility for the brilliance of my hard-earned success in remaking your reputation.” Jaskier said with a smile. “But that does mean you’ll have to be a wolf, leaving Mousack to do the rummaging about for information since I’d rather not be separated from Ciri and I don’t think she’ll be up for much.” Jaskier’s smile faded. “The poor girl’s hardly slept since Cintra, and we can’t risk her having one of her nightmares if we end up spending the night among the refugees.”

“We’ll only stay if the camp seems safe.” Geralt promised. “We’ll take turns staying awake beside her to wake her if things get bad again.”

Geralt had known logically that Ciri was a child of the Elder Blood, having known Pavetta’s powers, but waking the night before to the soul curdling screams of a child that put a flock of sirens to shame had been more than enough to put all of them on edge. Geralt had been able to get to her side and gentle her awake before any lasting damage was done to them or the horses--creating a serious sense of deja vu of a certain banquet long ago--but as Ciri cried herself back to sleep in his arms he had traded wary looks with Mousesack and Jaskier over her shoulder.

Keeping a child safe was one thing, keeping a princess hidden was another, but keeping a traumatized little girl who had the ability to scream a forest to the ground because of bad dreams was only going to make things even harder. According to Mousesack this was the first time the girl’s powers had properly manifested, but something he’d been watching for for years.

“Well, with Mousesack handling the errands that leaves the three of us just standing around.” Jaskier said. “If we’re really going to risk it then we need something less suspicious to do than than just hovering on the edge of camp, we don’t want to make these poor people more nervous than they already are.”

“And what do you propose?” Geralt asked. “Sitting down with your lute to teach the children to make flower crowns while Mousesack asks around for news and supplies?” Geralt said.

But at that Jaskier only raised his eyebrows, tilting his head and rubbing his chin thoughtfully with a smile.

***

“Look! I found more daisies!” Exclaimed Elenor, a little refugee girl whose shoes had seen better days.

She dropped her armful of the yellow and white flowers on the grass and the gaggle of children circled around eagerly grabbed them to add to their own flower chains.

“Well done Eleanor.” Jaskier said warmly, continuing to strum the gentle tune he’d been calmly playing for the last hour. “And they’ve got lovely long stems too, just perfect. Adam, could you help Nora with her pansies? I think she’s having a bit of trouble.”

Geralt huffed quietly, twitching a furry ear as one of the children leaned over to excitedly bestow yet another finished chain of flowers over his head. When Jaskier has first sat down only a couple timid refugee children had dared venture over to the bard and his wolf, but now Geralt was sure his braided collar was entirely obscured by chains of buttercups and dandelions and whatever else the children had scrounged up in the nearby fields.

Geralt’s chin rested on his paws as he allowed young hands to pet him, but he could still see the weary eyed parents watching from a distance. At first many of them had seemed wary, but now they just seemed relieved and grateful to see their children smiling and giggling over something again.

A feeling Geralt could relate to as he looked up to where Ciri was leaning against Jaskier’s side, one hand in Geralt’s fur as she dozed lightly. Coming into the refugee camp had been a risk, but at least being around the relaxed chatter of other people seemed to calm Ciri more than the tense silence of being on the run in the woods.

“Does your wolf eat children?” A little boy with a torn shirt asked Jaskier, sounding entirely unconcerned as he threaded the stem of a buttercup into Geralt’s thick fur. “My mum says wolves eat children who misbehave.”

“Regular wolves perhaps, but not this one.” Jaskier said. “My wolf is special, he only protects people who are in trouble, he’s far too handsome to be a monster.”

Geralt huffed in amusement, but his tail thumped lazily against the ground behind him as he leaned his head against Jaskier’s knee.

“Did yours and Fiona’s house got burned too?” A very little girl asked, her voice nearly too soft to hear over Jaskier’s gentle strumming. “My mum says we might never go back home, that dad isn’t going to come back.”

The children all fell into a somber silence, doubtlessly each thinking of what it was they were fleeing from, a heavy reality that couldn’t be forgotten in an afternoon of music and flower crowns.

“Yes, Fiona’s home got burned too.” Jaskier said softly, of course unable to sugar coat, but still able to at least validate and gentle. “It’s made us very frightened and tired, and angry at the people who did it too. I’m afraid it’s not a very nice way to be feeling, is it? Especially when the grown-ups seem to feel that way too?”

The little girl shook her head, her bottom lip trembling. Geralt carefully got to his feet, crossing the circle of children to sit beside her, whining gently as the little girl turned and hugged his neck tightly, burning her face in his fur.

Several of the other children reached out to pet him as well and Geralt settled down at their feet, content to lay there as the scents of fear and sadness slowly mellowed. Not disappearing, but no longer sharp as the children had something soft and good and pleasant to think of for perhaps the first time in several hard days.

Geralt opened one eye to see Jaskier watching him with a soft expression, Ciri still asleep at his side. Geralt wagged his tail once in acknowledgment, then turned his attention back to the children around him, doing his best to be what they needed most right now.

It certainly wasn't the first time in the last two years that he’d provided comfort in his wolf form, and he’d found it to often be more satisfying than any contract.

***

Geralt remained a wolf until sundown, becoming a great favorite among their corner of the refugee camp until he trotted off into the trees. Jaskier had explained to the children that it was time for him to leave for the night to go take care of his wolfy errands, and he had been bid several teary farewells.

By the time Geralt wandered back to camp—now dressed in light armor and a cloak with a deep hood—the campfires were crackling quietly and everyone who was fortunate enough to have a tent was in it. Some adults were still awake and speaking quietly to each other across their own fires, but Geralt could hear easily the rhythmic song of crickets and the night breeze over them as the camp quietly dozed in exhaustion.

“Welcome back, Wolf.” Jaskier whispered, shifting as Geralt came to sit with him at the base of the oak tree near their fire.

“Ciri asleep?” Geralt murmured, sitting behind Jaskier and pulling the bard into his lap, loosely wrapping his cloak around them.

“She is, Mousesack just relieved me of nightmare watch duty.” Jaskier said. He yawned like a cat as he stretched, then settled to curl up contentedly against Geralt’s chest. “You’ll be up next, but not for a couple hours.”

“We need to find something for her.” Geralt said, frowning. “Some kind of sleeping draught perhaps once we aren’t traveling and she has a safe roof over her head again.”

“I imagine the roof alone will do as much good as a potion.” Jaskier said, his voice deceptively light. “I know I’ll sleep better once I stop seeing Nilfgaardian helmet wings in every swaying tree branch.”

Geralt bit his lip, but hesitated to say anything. Jaskier had been sleeping almost as badly as Ciri, but whenever Geralt had shaken him awake he’d only said he wasn’t ready yet to talk about what he’d seen.

He knew Jaskier had been trying to grieve for the death of his spymaster friend as quietly as possible--what with all the danger and hurry their little band was still in--and had been doing his best to give the bard space despite his own questions.

And so instead of pushing Geralt only held him a bit closer as they watched the fire for a long moment of calm silence.

“I first met Wilhelm when I started visiting Ciri on her birthdays.” Jaskier said quietly, capturing Geralt’s attention. “In hindsight it was probably because he knew we traveled together and he wanted to keep an eye on me, at least to begin with, but we always had at least a few exciting nights together whenever I was in town.”

Geralt kept quiet as Jaskier paused, only his thumb moving to stroke back and forth across the bard’s shoulder as he waited for him to continue at his own pace.

“When he came to get me out of the dungeon he had a sword with fire runes in it.” Jaskier said, taking a shaky breath and letting it out slowly. “I’ve only ever seen you carry runestone swords, but it was glowing like anything. He got us nearly to the back gate but there were too many soldiers in the way and so he...” Jaskier swallowed, evidently experiencing a rare moment of words failing him as he struggled to push past the emotion in his throat. “He, ah, he decided to create a distraction so I could sneak past. It was...it was awful Geralt, I, I never...”

“You saw him die?” Geralt prompted carefully, not wanting to push too hard.

“I...don’t know.” Jaskier said, brow furrowed tightly as he stared into the flames of the campfire, shadows flickering across his face. “He lit himself on fire, Geralt.”

Geralt jolted a bit in shock. “He what?” He could believe the spymaster had given himself up to save an old friend, but he hadn’t pegged the spymaster as being insane.

“Not, not like with a torch.” Jaskier said, looking up at him. “He _literally_ lit himself on fire, as in from within himself. He said his mother had been a witch who dealt with fire magic and that’s why he had an igni sword.” Jaskier flexed his hands unconsciously. “He said he’d never really used fire magic before because he didn’t know how to control it, but then he did anyway. It’s like he _became_ fire, I could see it _in_ his eyes Geralt, in his veins. He was in pain, but he still went and fought the soldiers, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Neither have I.” Geralt said, frowning as he mentally flipped through the short list of fire related creatures he’d ever heard of. “He wasn’t just channeling it out from him like a mage? It was actually inside him and didn’t kill him instantly?”

“He _became_ the fire. It was _in_ him.” Jaskier said, huddling closer as the haunting memory doubtlessly replayed before his eyes. “He seemed sure it would kill him soon...but he did it anyway.”

“And you’re sure he wasn’t a trained magic user?” Geralt asked, his brain now seizing onto the puzzle.

A mage could create and channel fire, but not _become_ fire without suffering immediately suffering the deadly consequences. A very powerful one might be able to stave off the effects for a few moments, but certainly not someone as untrained as Wilhelm, especially if he hadn’t been carrying any additional tools. What the spymaster had done had to be something entirely different than anything Geralt had seen before, and he’d seen an awful lot.

“Wilhelm de Drobiazg, spymaster of Cintra. Master of words and people and tipsy banter, but not magic.” Jaskier said, his voice getting quieter and sadder, the scent of grief descending heavily now around them.

“Drobiazg?” Geralt asked, his attention catching on the name.

He’d heard it somewhere before...but where?

“That was his name? Drobiazg?” he asked, torn between knowing Jaskier had reached the end of his energy for the subject and the familiar spark inside him that always took interest in unsolved questions.

Jaskier nodded silently, eyes closing as he wrapped his arms around Geralt tighter. He was done for the night, that much was clear.

Geralt pushed away his questions and shifted to pull Jaskier closer, tucking the cloak around them more securely. Maybe he’d get the chance to ask more questions later, but really the spymaster’s fate ranked exceedingly low on the list of concerns Geralt should be spending his energy worrying about. For now trying to make sure Jaskier got a decent night of sleep was at the very top of that list.

And besides, apart from Jaskier, he’d likely never hear of the dead spymaster again.


	2. The Bandit

“Here, you look like you can use some coin. Have your little ones eaten anything today? I’ve got some food, take it.”

Geralt slowly drifted back to full consciousness as the sound of a stranger’s voice in the campsite pushed him awake. After his shift watching Ciri for nightmares he’d taken to meditating outside their tent for the rest of the night, his face hidden in his hood. 

“In exchange why don’t you tell me where you’ve come from?” The voice continued from across their corner of the refugee camp. “Have you seen any troop movements during your travels? Any particular dangers along your way or tales you’ve heard from others?”

Geralt opened his eyes to peer across the burnt out fire pit. The sun was only just beginning to rise and the camp to stir but he could still see the man with a blond ponytail talking to the parents of Ciri’s playmates from the night before. He seemed to be freely distributing food to the children from a satchel, food that only Geralt could scent as smelling faintly of death.

Geralt’s eyes widened as the man’s familiar scent registered, taking in the man’s blue tunic and the black leather patch strapped over one eye. He hadn’t seen the bastard since the last time he’d been robbed at knifepoint in Novigrad.

Geralt got to his feet silently, crossing the campsite in several quick steps and latching a hand onto the man’s shoulder, unceremoniously pulling him out of camp and into the forest brush before he could react. Geralt was careful to pin the man’s hands behind him before a startled dagger could have the chance to find its way into Geralt’s ribs.

“What are you doing here Feliks?” Geralt rumbled as soon as they were out of earshot from the camp, shoving the man a few steps from him as he released him. “Shouldn’t you be pickpocketing merchants in Novigrad this time of year?”

Feliks’ expression was panicked and cold as Geralt released him, but it flashed to one of delight instead as he turned and got a look at who had scruffed him. He caught his balance against a tree, looking up at the witcher with an excited smile.

“Geralt of Rivia!” Feliks cried. “Goodness, I never thought I’d see you _here_ of all places? Why, I don’t think we’ve seen each other since I kept the boys from robbing you at knifepoint last year in the leatherworking district. How are you? Is Jaskier with you? Where did-”

“My question first.” Geralt interrupted, knowing from experience that the excitable bandit leader could out-babble even Jaskier given the chance. “What are you doing in a refugee caravan this far from the city? I thought you’d given up life on the road in favor of benevolently ruling your patch of gang turf.”

“Well you can’t _really_ expect me to just sit around in the same city all year, can you Geralt?” Feliks said with a smile, hands on his hips. “The boys hold down the fort whenever I feel like going for a jaunt, there’s been so much buzz around the Nilfgaardians I thought it might do me some good to get a bit of fresh air. See the countryside, scout some troop movements, pick some corpses clean.”

He cheerlily pulled at the strap of his satchel, hefting its contents. Well that explained the lingering smell of death. “Nothing gets coin moving like war my friend, and information is the hottest commodity around. Why pass the chance to stretch my legs on to a lackey when I’m perfectly capable of hopping refugee camps to collect it myself?”

“Only you would think of a trip to the countryside and looting corpses as equally enjoyable outings.” Geralt said flatly.

“Oh don’t you tease me like that, witcher.” Feliks said with a wink, flipping a coin in the air and catching it. “You’re the one who taught me how to shake down a stiff back when I was just getting started, remember? Could have cut me down in my own oversized stolen boots for getting into your saddlebags uninvited, but instead you showed me how to hold my sword right. Besides, coin does these refugees a lot more good than it’ll ever do the dead whose pockets it came from, even if it has got some blood on it.”

“If I’d known my advice would lead you to becoming Novigraad’s youngest syndicate leader I’d have trussed you up and tossed you in the river instead.” Geralt said dryly, despite his best efforts unable to keep the barest hint of fondness from creeping into his voice.

Even though Geralt didn’t approve of all of Feliks’...methods, he also knew that the poor who lived in the neighborhoods he claimed never seemed to go without for as long as Feliks was in charge. The bandit had come a long way from the starry-eyed young man Geralt had first caught stealing from him years ago.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re wandering into war zones _alone_.” Geralt said sternly. “Information won’t net you a payday if you’re too dead to sell it.”

“Oh, I’m not alone!” Feliks said brightly, then hesitated with a sheepish smile. “Or at least I wasn’t until yesterday. I’ve been traveling with Wit of Drobiazg again, but she said all the cat witchers are being called back home to the caravan until they can tell which way the war’s going to blow. You know how the cats are with their assassination contracts, want to make sure they’re getting hired by the winning side. Are you heading back to your keep too? I imagine any witcher will be glad to hole up for the next while, probably won’t be many contracts other than necrophages for a long while.”

Geralt jolted as a puzzle piece clicked into place in his memory.

Wit of Drobiazg, who shared the same last name as the late spymaster of Cintra.

Wit of Drobiazg, the cat witcher who was infamous for her unusually strong Igni casting.

Geralt had scooped Wit out of a disastrous contract-gone-wrong decades ago, back when she’d practically still been a kitten, making her one of the rare cat witchers Geralt ever risked hanging around the occasional times their paths had crossed over the years. She might like him for saving her life, but it didn’t change the fact that hanging around a cat always felt a bit like storing a bomb with a lit fuse in your pack.

But Feliks had never seemed to mind in the slightest. The two forces of chaos had taken a liking to each other after Geralt had accidentally introduced them a few years back, during a particularly trying fortnight when the three of them had been trapped in the same town together.

“You two travel together often don’t you? Has Wit ever told you about her family?” Geralt asked, latching onto his epiphany before it had the chance to slip away. “Does she remember anything from before her trials?”

“I...maybe? She’s mentioned them a few times I suppose. Why?” Feliks said, looking thoroughly confused by the abrupt change in topic.

“Did she keep her family name after she was given up or did she just choose it herself?” Geralt asked.

“I _think_ it was her family name?” Feliks said, squinting and scratching his head. “She wasn’t too young when she was taken by the cats I think, she could have remembered it when it came to taking her witcher name. You’d have to ask her to be sure though, she doesn’t like talking about her childhood too much. I mean, you know how it is with witchers. Bit of a sore subject for you lot isn’t it?”

“Hmmm.” Geralt grunted.

He knew he should probably drop it--gods knew he already had enough on his plate to worry about with getting Ciri and the others to safety--but he never had been good at letting mysteries alone once he’d gotten started thinking about them. Doubly so if he found a lead.

“Do you know where the caravan is traveling? Where I can find them?” Geralt asked.

He’d never dare tracking down the cat witchers’ caravan uninvited...but perhaps a message with some carefully phrased questions could be sent instead?

“Of course not.” Feliks said with an easy smile.

Geralt sighed, pulling out his coin purse. “Alright, how much is that information going to cost me?”

“Sorry Geralt, not for sale.” Feliks said with a good-natured shrug. “Friends and family discount means I don’t sell information on family and friends where it’s not wanted.”

“Even if I’m a friend too?” Geralt asked, tipping an amount of money into his hand, letting the coins glint temptingly. “I’m a friend asking a friend about a mutual friend.”

Feliks only chuckled. Geralt poured a few more coins but Feliks just shook his head. Geralt let a truly exorbitant amount of coin spill into his hand, far more than he’d ever dream of actually handing over, just to see what would happen.

But instead of a greedy spark lighting in the bandit’s eye, his smile faded and he frowned, looking up at Geralt.

“Geralt, is something wrong?” Feliks asked. “Why do you need to find the caravan so badly?”

Geralt sighed, tipping the coin back into his purse and tucking it away. “No, no, it’s fine. I’ve just been meaning to ask her something, then I was curious to see if you could be budged. My apologies if it came off as insulting.”

“If you’d asked me anything else I’d gladly have taken your coin, but...” Feliks grimaced. “You don’t make it very far in my line of business if you don’t know what’s worth more than money.”

“Perhaps I can pay you for some other information then.” Geralt said. If Feliks was dealing in information then he would have heard if soldiers were searching for a certain ashen-haired princess. “Jaskier and I are trying to get to the Hertch mountains as quickly as we can, have you heard of anything that could get in our way?”

“Now that I can help you with.” Feliks said, his smile returning. “There’s plenty of-”

“Geralt?”

Geralt tensed, looking up to see Ciri tromping through the brush toward them, rubbing her eyes. He sighed silently. He should have dragged Feliks farther into the woods, he hadn’t wanted the bandit to see her, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

“I woke up and you were gone.” Ciri said, reaching him and sleepily burying her face against Geralt’s side, her hood falling to reveal her snowy blonde hair before he could catch it.

Geralt looked up warily just in time to see Feliks’ eyes widen.

He knew.

Geralt sent him the iciest warning look he could manage.

“This is Fiona.” Geralt said, every syllable carefully measured and loaded with unspoken meaning as he stared Feliks down. “My daughter. We’re traveling to safety away from the war.”

“Your daughter.” Feliks repeated, looking like he was barely managing not to trip over a whirlwind of thoughts inside his head. He blinked, pulling on a smile. “So you and Jaskier adopted then, how lovely! I’m sure you’re all very lucky to have each other.”

Geralt watched Feliks rub nervously at the edge of his eyepatch, biting his lip as he looked at Ciri with concern.

“Are you sure that...?” Feliks started, but his voice trailed off.

He scratched the back of his head, looking like he was fighting back a grimace as he looked up at Geralt. When he spoke again his voice was hushed and strained. “You really shouldn’t be here with her Geralt, not in a camp like this, there’s too many eyes around who _will_ sell you out for their next meal.”

“We’ve been traveling away from roads for days.” Geralt said, fatigue creeping into his voice now. “We needed a chance to get more supplies and to find out what’s going on so we don’t run headlong into a trap or a military camp. This was our first chance.”

“Well you need to get out as quickly as you can.” Feliks said, his gaze deadly serious as he glanced around. “I’m not the only one here harvesting information to resell, and if the emperor knows she’s traveling with a witcher and a bard that’s going to be a wanted poster description so colorful that even the drunkest peasant can remember it. A princess, a witcher and a bard, it sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.”

“And a druid.” Geralt sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“And a druid?” Feliks said, shaking his head with a bemused smile that managed to stick for at least a second before dropping away again. “Well then, here’s the information you asked for. Stay away from roads and towns, if you need to get supplies only send the druid or Jaskier to get them since you and the girl will be the most easily recognized. You’re ahead of the armies for now but only barely, and the longer you travel the more refugees there will be competing for resources, so try to move as fast as you can to stay ahead of them.

“Most large bridges are already locking down and demanding inflated tolls, so avoid those whenever you can and get across the river another way. You’ll also start seeing towns and villages who have preemptively sided with the emperor to avoid being ransacked too and they’ll have notices looking for the princess posted before you’ve even arrived, so beware. Why the emperor wants her so badly is anyone’s guess, but he’s already doing ugly things to try and get her.”

“Thank you Feliks, we’ll do our best to follow your advice.” Geralt said soberly. He looked down to brush hair from Ciri’s face. Her eyes were still closed, by now all too used to adults discussing the danger looming over her. “Fiona, go wake Jaskier and Mousesack, tell them we’re leaving as soon as we’re packed.” he said, careful to keep in the habit of using her false name.

Ciri blinked up at them both for another moment as she hesitated, but then went off back to the camp without a word.

“How...?” Feliks asked, watching her go.

“Safer if you don’t know.” Geralt said, getting an understanding nod from Feliks.

“Are you staying out here for long?” Geralt asked, pulling out a reasonable amount of coin and handing it to Feliks.

“Not without Wit.” Feliks said grimly, pocketing the coin. “Like you said, there’s no payday if you’re dead. No, I think you witchers have the right idea, I’ll probably hang around home until things have a chance to settle. Besides, Nilfgaard barely even leaves scraps behind to scavenge from once they’ve passed through. Just ash.”

“I wish you safe travels then.” Geralt said.

“To you as well.” Feliks paused for a moment. “Geralt, I can’t promise anything, but if I do have the chance to pass a message on to the caravan would you want Wit to know you’re looking for her and will be found at Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt hesitated. Vesimir had expressly forbidden cats from entering the keep as a rule, but he had made a reluctant exception for Lambert’s cat friend Aiden before. There was no guarantee that Wit would even get his message, let alone respond, never mind actually make the trek all the way out to Kaer Morhen. In all reality it would probably be years before he had the chance to find her again, meaning there was no real harm in giving implied permission for her to visit the keep.

“Yes, you can tell her.” Geralt said. “But only if it’s just her, I don’t need the entire caravan knowing. And nothing about...nothing about anything else, right?”

“Family and friends discount.” Feliks said with a crooked smile. “Your secrets are safe with me. Even if they’re the most inadvisable kind.” His smile dropped. “Now get moving, you’ll be lucky to get out of the camp before anyone else sees you or the girl.”

Geralt nodded, turning back to camp without another word and already grimly contemplating the decidedly town-less rest of the journey ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feliks the bandit belongs to @ibrithir-was-here and is great friends with Wit of Drobiazg the Cat school witcher. You can see their character designs here: https://im-fairly-whitty.tumblr.com/post/614599362829533184/witcher-friends-d-wit-of-drobiazg-has-many


	3. To All The Lovely Readers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quick note to say that The Witcher Wolf series is officially on indefinite hiatus/discontinued. I really am not vibing with the energy coming from the ramping up to season 2 (from either the creators or the fandom at large) and my overall Witcher energy in general has finally petered out I think.
> 
> If I were to continue the story it would be post season two, but realistically I think that’s unlikely since I’ll probably have a new interest by then and I think the WW has had a pretty great run already. Thanks so much for tagging along and helping to make the story so fun to play with, you’ve all been really fantastic readers to have! I’ll see you in the next fic. :)

Quick note to say that The Witcher Wolf series is officially on indefinite hiatus/discontinued. I really am not vibing with the energy coming from the ramping up to season 2 (from either the creators or the fandom at large) and my overall Witcher energy in general has finally petered out I think.

If I were to continue the story it would be post season two, but realistically I think that’s unlikely since I’ll probably have a new interest by then and I think the WW has had a pretty great run already. Thanks so much for tagging along and helping to make the story so fun to play with, you’ve all been really fantastic readers to have! I’ll see you in the next fic. :)

**Author's Note:**

> ~~~
> 
> Tumblr = @im-fairly-whitty for all y'all who want to find me elsewhere.


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